The Muse

The muse , fallen from the heaven's window
by crime of love and curse of Gods
And now he murmurs softly , in humanely wounds,
And praises whats still beautiful in mortal bounds

The muse still paints but not in pain
the muse still sings but not in vain
 Yakshas of sky still inebriateupon his verse
Poet of heaven's most sacred source
 Apsaras dance to his beauteous songs
the Godly musician they always loved

But Love , the muse's only crime
The Love, the muse's only shrine ...